Hermione's Eyes
by Nacima
Summary: Hermione's view on things. The title is VERY misleading! It will open your eyes. Please read!
1. Thinking

Hermione's Eyes  
  
disclaimer: I have no legal rights or privileges that have anything to do with Harry Potter or J.K. Rowling. There is no profit being made from this or any infringement of any legal bindings intended. I come in peace and offer my largest cow (lol) if I have broken any laws.   
  
Note: I couldn't get the italics and things to work. Terribly sorry. :(  
  
Thinking  
  
The cool room made the rain outside seem as if it were colder than it was. Hermione looked out of the window, resting her elbows on the edge, thinking of what she was about to do. She wanted terribly to escape to the library and hide herself in a book, rather than face what she had to. A sigh escaped from her, spilling out her woes to bounce off the window pane and come springing back to hit her in the face. She didn't want to believe it. She wanted it all to be a lie, a sick joke, anything but true.   
  
Her thoughts spiraled in her head and made her dizzy with enervation of mind. She wanted to sit down; her legs didn't. They seemed to be in league with her feet which wanted to stay rooted to the spot until she had convinced herself that it was something else. No amount of studying and homework had ever caused her so much stress. She had much more piled on her plate at once, many more times than she would have liked, but she didn't dare tell anyone. Her pride held her to her promise and her name. But this, this was different.   
  
Morals were very important to Hermione. She had been the one to keep Harry and Ron from doing stupid things or from being mean to even *her* enemy, Malfoy.   
  
Malfoy made her sick to think about. The boy she so despised, the one who had been so immature to call her uncivil names, the one who had teased and tormented her so many times before, made her almost angry, but not for any of those reasons. She couldn't help but feel awful for feeling like this though. It wasn't Harry's choice. It just happens that way. *No,* she thought. *Don't let yourself think that.*  
  
But part of her did think it. She knew there was nothing she could do even if it were true. Why would it even matter? But *it* did matter. She thought is should matter. *It was wrong!* Her world was not a happy place to be in right now. The usual calm and happy disposition she kept was no where to be found. Her head swirled with gray clouds smirking at her and throwing their horrible cries across the sky within her mind. Branches of trees creaked and snapped under the pressure, and mean beady-eyed birds kept swooping down on her. All her thoughts were awful.   
  
The window sill she had been supporting herself on felt like it didn't want to hold her anymore and she felt herself fall through fluffy clouds that screamed when they were touched by her like she was contaminated with an illness they didn't want to catch. Her whole body vibrated and she felt like she was being pulled by her arms from behind in fast circles with her feet still dragging along behind. Then came cold. Horrible icy cold, came crashing through her like raging rapids running through her head.  
  
"HERMIONE!" Ron shouted as he splashed her again with water. "Hermione, are you alright? Hermione?"   
  
In a short amount of time they were surrounded by a crowd of eager Gryffindors gathering to see what had happened. The common room was nearly full, due to the rain pouring down outside, and an eerie quite fell upon it suddenly. No one dared to speak up and ask what was wrong or why she had fainted. Then Hermione spluttered and gasped for breath, rising up almost as quickly as she had fallen. It seemed as if nearly five minutes had passed but it had only been a few seconds of unconsciousness.   
  
"Somebody go get Madame Pompfrey NOW!" Ron roared in the silence. There were a few students who ran toward the door to rush to the hospital wing and Ron shouted again. "And go get McGonagall, too!" he said before they had made it to the portrait hole. As they swung it open to scurry out, they bumped into a very wet, very muddy young boy carrying a broomstick, Harry.  
  
He immediately started to swear under his breathe and then he spotted Ron hovering over Hermione who was frantically looking around the room while everyone gawked at her. *Ron couldn't be teasing her could he,* Harry thought. Then he realized that no one was laughing and threw his prized Firebolt to the floor. He ran towards the crowd leaving the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team that was still straggling in, unaware of what was going on, another obstacle to get over after a horrid practice of being beaten with rain.  
  
"What's wrong with her? What happened? Is she ok?" Harry spit out quickly and demandingly. "Hermione are you ok?" He looked from Ron back to Hermione. She looked up at him where he was standing, about to drop to his knees to her, like he was vermin. He noticed this repulsive look on her face and felt a wicked hate radiating from her directed at him. He dropped his jaw and left his mouth to hang open. "Hermione?" he said timidly as he stayed standing.   
  
She was going to approach him maturely and in a way that he felt at ease and that she wasn't pressuring him in any way. She was going to keep her head and check to make sure she hadn't been mistaken. She was, but she didn't. She became one of the beady-eyed birds trying to attack her in her head toward him. What would have made her happy was to spit on him and kick him as hard and as many times as she could without killing him. He was filth in her eyes now, her beady, little, bird eyes.   
  
Harry's confused face made him look so fragile and pale when he was already beaten white with rain. "Her-Hermione?" he asked, "you're – okay, right?" She starred with cold unforgiving darkness and Harry stepped back so very slightly. A few people saw this hate that Hermione had and turned to look at him with doubt and discombobulation. There was a moment's silence although not in Harry's ears. He was in a different world now.   
  
The funneling clouds spun overhead and an eerie whistling rang in his ears. The wind whipped and gray filled all that he could see. Harry was seeing what Hermione had been most unfortunate to feel. Pain leapt in his stomach trying desperately to get out, trying to rip its way through his skin to freedom. He felt nauseous and SLAM!  
  
The door of the Fat Lady's portrait swung open and McGonagall ran over to the fallen Hermione on the floor. A look of horror in her eyes and her small lips pursed together more tightly than Harry had ever seen. A bony hand trembled as she wretch it out to bring the stretcher to her side that Madame Pompfrey had sent. Harry doubted if Madame Pompfrey ever left the hospital wing. The scared students moved aside quickly and Hermione was placed upon it gently with her eyes still transfixed on the sopping wet Harry, menacingly.   
  
  
  
"Weasley, Potter, you come with me. The rest of you – back to whatever it was you were doing," said McGonagall, "hurry now!" She rose to her feet and began toward the portrait hole, with Hermione hovering in front of her. Harry and Ron had followed as they were told. As the jumped through the hole the Fat Lady's mouth gapped and her hand rose to her mouth. "Oh dear," she said half shocked to see Hermione.   
  
The brisk trot down to the Hospital Wing was horrible. No one spoke a single word or even dared to cough. Harry's water logged shoes squeaked annoyingly on the cold floor beneath him. Hermione tried fervently to turn around to glare at Harry, but McGonagall insisted that she lie down and wait until they'd seen Madame Pompfrey to do anything else. Finally Hermione spoke.  
  
"You remind me of her, you know. Madame Pompfrey," Hermione whined, half irritated. "Lie down. Rest, rest, rest," she mocked. Never had Hermione acted so strangely before to either Harry or Ron's knowledge, but McGonagall didn't seem to notice her odd behavior at all. She just kept them walking quickly to the Hospital Wing, refusing to look at either Ron or Harry.   
  
Please, PLEASE, review this chapter!! Tell me what you think is going on. Thanks! 


	2. The Hospital Wing

The Hospital Wing  
  
"No, I don't want to lay here!" screamed Hermione. "Let me go!" as she whipped out her wand from her pocket.   
  
"Now, dear, lie down," Madame Pompfrey begged with a slight look of panic on her face. "Everything will be fine in just a little –"  
  
"NO! I – want – to LEAVE!" Hermione was enraged. Her anger and fury seeped through her skin, sending wisps of energy to everyone near her. Of course, no one wanted to stand too close. Harry, Ron, and McGonagall were backed away from the ranting girl while Madame Pompfrey tried to reason with her.   
  
"Now, Hermione? What has gotten into you?" Madame Pompfrey questioned shakily. Hermione's head snapped around viciously to look at Harry. His stomach had just dropped out of his body and left him to die, alone, and cold. Her bitter wand-bearing hand rose to meet his eyes. They grew large and afraid. Hermione wouldn't – hurt him would she? She hadn't purposely done damage to him before now, but something was very, very different about her now.   
  
"Her-Hermione, wha-what are you – doing?" His voice was feeble and weak and his eyes blinked rapidly.   
  
"Petrificus totalus!" Ron shouted as he, too, had snapped out his wand to stop Hermione from any possible attack she might do. Everyone starred as Hermione fell backwards onto the bed.  
  
"Finally," Madame Pompfrey said. "Now I can get this potion in her," she joked. Rolling her eyes, she walked toward a small table beside the bed. Everyone else's eyes were on Ron, Harry's full of appreciation, McGonagall's, surprise.   
  
Ron looked back and forth from each of them with a curious look. "Well someone had to do it. I wasn't going to let her hurt my mate, here."He looked over at Harry approvingly and grinned. "She's got a lot of hexes and curses up her sleeve." Harry couldn't smile. He was cold, wet, hungry, and he was almost attacked by one of his best friends who had a wicked hate in her eyes that he'd never seen before. His confusion was great and it made him slightly dizzy. Of course he thought that was the effect from the 'world' he had entered earlier that hadn't yet, worn off. What the Hell had he done to her? He'd said good-bye to her before he went to Quidditch practice so he couldn't be mad at her for that. She seemed fine then. His eyes turned to Madame Pompfrey.   
  
She had now situated Hermione on the bed properly and was turned to the table again, mixing a small cup of red liquid with a spoon as Hermione's eyes tried in vain to move to where she could glare at Harry. He moved nervously left, trying to make sure she couldn't stare him to death. Professor McGonagall saw Harry's difficult circumstance, and decided to cut him some slack. After all, he was Gryffindor's prized Seeker.   
  
"Potter, Weasley, I think you two had better be off to bed," she said shaking her head uneasily, yet trying not to show her stress.   
  
"Right, Professor," said Ron. Harry was too unnerved to speak much more. "We'll go now. Er . . . bye, Hermione." His voice trailed off quickly as he said his farewells to her. Both of them left hastily, each trying to reach the door before the other like the marathon tape. Harry won. But then again, didn't he always?   
  
The door was a solid mass separating them, from freedom, a large obstacle in their way to safety. Harry's delicate hands pushed against it as he thrust his shoulder into it, knocking the door open much more quickly than was polite, but it was the speed at which he liked it best. The faster they were away from psycho Hermione, the better.   
  
Stumbling out into the corridors, Harry and Ron burst out into a run. They realized that they were running almost as quickly as they had begun and abruptly stopped and felt foolish. They weren't going to be harmed. They were in Gryffindor for Pete's sake. Why were they afraid of Hermione?  
  
"What's with her?" Ron asked as he rubbed his head.   
  
"Oh, I don't know what you mean. I think Hermione's acting perfectly normal," Harry said sarcastically as he rolled his eyes. "Apart from wanting to kill me, you mean? I dunno. I wish she'd...stop though. What did I ever do to her?" Ron shrugged. "It's like it was a whole different Hermione"   
  
"Personally, I think she's gone mad."  
  
"Mad? Tosh. Probably all of the extra credit she's studying for. I've never understood why she would want to do so much for *Snape.*"  
  
"I wouldn't."  
  
"Can't blame you."  
  
Do you know what is happening yet? Review please and tell me your thoughts. 


	3. The Meaning of it All

The Meaning of it All  
  
The boys walked back towards the Gryffindor common room through the dank corridors with light from the lanterns sweeping over their faces, kissing them gently as they passed. The silence was all they heard, apart from the swish of their robes and the scuffle and squeak of their sneakered feet (Harry's still squeaking annoyingly). Tiny echoes bounced off the walls. You could almost hear them laughing as they were swept back and forth under Harry and Ron's feet, each step springing them gleefully from one side of the corridor to the other.  
  
Although Harry didn't want to admit it, Ron's breathing irritated him as he tried to focus all of his energy on forgetting the angry hate in Hermione's eyes. *Couldn't he breath quieter?* He thought to himself. It didn't really bother him, it's just he rather liked the laughter he thought he heard as their feet echoed.   
  
He could ask him, but they never were really honest with each other. And they both knew this – it was a sort of unwritten rule between friends. Sometimes honesty was brutal, even when it seemed like a small thing. These school years were hellish enough without having one moment of brutal honesty wrench you away from the safety of the wonderful, blissful world of denial.  
  
Instead Harry changed from listening to their feet, to watching the flames lick at one another in the lanterns strung along the top of the walls. He liked the way the orange and yellow blended together and swirled in the glass. It's amazing how beautiful things look after you have just been close to being attacked by one of your closest friends. He stopped at one of them to stare into the flames and he ran his fingers through his hair as he stood. Ron had to stop too, to look at him quizzically.  
  
"Harry you could see yourself better in a mirror, you know," Ron said looking mildly curious. "Of course, they'll talk to you and tell you how your just making your hair look worse with your hands always in it." Ron watched as he put his hand down and stopped brushing it through his hair. Harry looked a little embarrassed.   
  
"Yeah," Harry replied. He rather liked the almost white light in the very middle, glistening brightly for all who bothered looking to see. He kept walking with Ron and they now started up the stair case to go get ready for the night.   
  
"Out a little late aren't you, Potter?" Draco Malfoy had appeared at the top of the stairs. "Shouldn't you be getting to *bed?*" Draco had an evil smile on his face as he looked down at Harry, his nose somehow still in the air. His two chums stood stupidly on either side of him and crossed their arms, looking like bouncers in a night club.  
  
It was Friday and Harry had been looking forward to a good weekend doing as little as he could but Malfoy's sudden appearance made it look almost hopeless now. He could find something that Harry had been doing wrong and tattle to Snape. One of the immediate lies he would tell would be that he and Ron had been trying to get down to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons to pester them. He seemed to use that one whenever possible. If Malfoy had seen him starring at the lantern, he'd tell on him for trying to tear it down. Anything was a good lie for Malfoy. Snape would believe anything his favourite student told him about his least favourite student.   
  
"And why are *you* out then, Malfoy?" Harry asked smugly.   
  
"You had better not get *lippy* with me, Potter. Remember,. I'm a prefect." Malfoy smiled with the right side of his mouth, shook his head up and down, and looked at Crabbe and Goyle.   
  
"Yeah? Well I'm a prefect too," Ron said as he puffed out his chest. It reminded Harry of Percy somewhat.  
  
"Get out of my way, *Weasley.*" Malfoy had begun to descend down the stairs starring intently at Harry. Draco's eyes reminded him of the white glowing light that had entranced him just moments before. Harry continued to stare and Ron had been squinting at him trying to hold in his urge to punch him. Malfoy's plan worked as he had hoped. He had distracted Harry and Ron long enough with his gaze, to nudge Goyle in the side as the 'signal.'   
  
Ron went tumbling down the six stairs that he and Harry had climbed loudly and grunting in pain. He hit the bottom with a thud and found out the hard way that the stone floor was very solid as he smacked his head on it painfully. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle laughed loudly and ran down the rest of the steps and out of sight into the dimly light corridors going down to the Slytherin common room, being careful to step on Ron as they went. "Ron!" Harry shouted as he fled down the steps. He fell to his knees. "Are you okay?" Harry looked down at him almost motherly. He put his hand gently on his arm and shook him slightly. Ron stirred and tried to get up.  
  
"I'm going to KILL Malfoy!" he said as he laid his hand on the ground to push himself up. Harry took his hand off of his arm and placed it on his chest pinning him down. Harry moved to where he was almost directly over Ron.  
  
"You and I both know well, that Malfoy'd win in a fight with Crabbe and Goyle stuck up his ass guarding him like precious jewels or something."  
  
"More like food," Ron said looking disgusted.  
  
Harry laughed and said, "anyway, we'd just get in trouble. You know that he and Snape are out to get us anyway. What's the point of just letting Malfoy win by landing us in detention?"  
  
"I'll kill him later then," Ron said crudely, "when my head doesn't hurt so I can remember every bit of Malfoy's pathetic face as he DIES." Harry looked away and didn't say anything. He had obviously been slightly hurt and offended by that. His parents were killed and he was sure Voldemort had enjoyed killing them. Ron had seen his expression too, but it changed.  
  
"Right, Ron!" Harry bellowed. "You'd really like to see him die wouldn't you?"  
  
"Harry –"  
  
"NO ONE EVEN CARES ABOUT ME ANYMORE! No one saw HIM come back! No one saw Cedric DIE. You know Voldemort killed my parents! I bet he liked watching them die too, Ron." Ron flinched at the sound of Voldemort's name and Harry saw it. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort! Get used to it, Ron! You all just think it's good fun to laugh and joke about it! Don't you? DON'T YOU?" He looked Ron in the eye and quickly he turned away.  
  
  
  
"Oh, Harry. Harry I'm so sorry. I –"  
  
"No, it's ok," Harry said without meaning a single word. He didn't think it was ok, but he didn't want to scream anymore. He had been telling Ron off for every slip he made, but it was worth it. He needed some way to vent his frustration. Ron just happened to be one of those ways.   
  
Harry got to his feet. The warmth that Harry had passed to Ron through his hand had gone far too quickly for Ron's liking. Harry held out his hand to help Ron up. He took it and stood up quickly making him dizzy and making his throbbing head spin. "Thanks," Ron said very low. He couldn't look at Harry anymore, or think of anything else to say.  
  
"You're welcome," Harry spat.  
  
The boys turned to walk back to Gryffindor Tower, once again, in chilling silence the whole way. Harry took long, slow steps and thought about what Ron had just said. The topic of death always hit him hard but this was a little much coming from his best friend. He had so openly addressed the topic right in front of him – speaking to him. *What was Ron thinking doing an awful thing like that*, Harry thought. *Why am I even making such a fuss about it? I should just get to bed in one piece to enjoy tomorrow. And my God, can't Ron stop annoying me for one bloody second?*  
  
Ron was dragging his feet slightly as he staggered aimlessly down the corridor with his hand placed firmly on the back of his head rubbing his lump and trying not to look afraid. He kept bumping into Harry, too, but the sound of his feet scraping across the floor irked him terribly. Harry drowned out the sound of it by thinking of all the happiness that would come tomorrow. A smile spread on his face and warmth spread through his chilled body. Dark corridors get very cold at night, especially when one was already wet and freezing.   
  
Harry's stomach turned and growled. He had just become aware that he hadn't eaten since lunch. Quidditch practice had, again, made him skip dinner. The warmth that he had felt from the happy thoughts so briefly now faded and the depressing ones took over Harry's brain, flooding his head with misery. He squinted through something that was almost pain. The cold swept over him like it had the first time he had felt a Dementor, back on the train in his third year at Hogwarts. A shiver ran down his legs and he almost fell to the side.  
  
"Macsnooglehimer," Ron said halfheartedly.   
  
They had reached the common room portrait hole of the Fat Lady, who didn't seem to mind that they were Hermioneless, much more quickly than Harry realized now that he wasn't thinking about getting there. "I hate that password," Ron complained, "it reminds me of Krum." He and Ron entered to find the dim, but familiar common room empty, except for Euan Abercrombie who was lost in a pile of books and rolls of parchment. Poor boy, thought Harry. It was amazing that he felt sympathy for anyone now. *What kind of loser does this much work on a Friday night?* Then he thought again, *Hermione.*  
  
It was a little odd that no one else was there. Older prefects had probably told them all to go to bed, since both of the fifth year ones were out. Ron didn't do much prefecting anyway. Still, it was weird that they listened to them, and had gone to bed. Hermione had probably shaken them all up quite a bit for that to happen. Harry's mind was still catching up with him and as a result he suddenly slipped on a rock that he had most likely drug in from Quidditch. It rolled under his sneakers making him fall to the floor, slamming his face on the ground. It smashed his nose, but it didn't bleed. Although he got a small cut on his face from yet another rock, and it stung. Euan looked up from his work and had to stand to see what had happened because he was only a first year stuck behind a mountain of literature.   
  
"Just what I need," said Harry annoyed, "another damn scar on my face!" He pushed himself off the ground and got to his feet. He and Ron continued to go to the boy's dorm to go to sleep as everyone else had. Harry stomped up the stairs loudly and then opened the door to the fifth year quarters. It seemed that Hermione *had* shaken them all well because they were all asleep.   
  
The window nearest to Harry's four poster was slightly ajar and water had spilled into the room onto the floor. "Dammit," Harry said nettled, "who left the window open?" It had been him and he knew it, but he wanted to blame someone else since he had been to blame for everything else that night: Hermione, Ron getting shoved down the stairs, his new scrape. He rolled his eyes and shut it loudly.   
  
"Harry, you're gonna wake someone up," Ron said rubbing his eyes. Harry looked at him meaningly but didn't say anything. It was amazing how sleep lured everyone in that night. The room had to be under some kind of charm that they were unaware of. At any rate, they didn't care. They changed into their night clothes and climbed into bed. Harry threw his glasses on the table beside his bed and huffed.  
  
"Good-night," Ron said sleepily.  
  
"Night," he returned in his most gruff voice he could manage.   
  
Harry ruffled the blankets many times and tossed around unable to find his comfortable spot that he had made over the past few years. Ron, however, had been able to drift of easily and it made Harry slightly choleric and envious. Poor Ron had felt this way about Harry ever since they had first met. Harry was always the star of the show, the one to get all the glory, while Ron had been out shined by his older brothers all his life.  
  
Harry lied there, in the same wrong place in his bed for ten minutes watching as the room got steadily lighter as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The waxing crescent moon outside wasn't giving off much light and neither were the stars, but Harry could still see well, even without his glasses. His eyes were wide open and he starred up to his four poster like he was expecting something from it.   
  
An owl fluttered by the window to come back from a late delivery to the Owlery and Harry watched the shadow fly across the room nimbly. It was quiet and still in the dormitory. Occasionally someone would move to situate themselves better in their beds for a more comfortable night's sleep, but nothing unusual.   
  
After another ten minutes of lying in the same wrong spot in his bed, a new noise came into play as Ron had started to snore softly but only episodically. It hardly bothered Harry. After all, he was in a better mood than he had been in earlier and he was used to it by now. It only happened every few minutes, so why get flustered over it? He was going to have a good day whether he had a good night's sleep or not. He was determined.  
  
Harry was now bored. He had been lying in bed for twenty-five minutes without the slightest glimmer of sleep meeting his eyes. The movements of the people in his dorm had ceased and the only noise he heard was the soft buzz in his ears, his thoughts rambling in his head, and an occasional grunting snore from Ron. He looked over at Ron who, like Harry, hadn't closed his hangings around his bed that night, for something to do, something to occupy him for a while. He had his hand on his stomach and his left arm and leg were bent somewhat. His mouth hung open stupidly, but he looked calm, almost attractive lying on his back, but Ron was boring, too.   
  
Shadows were the most impressing thing Harry found to look at. The pole of his bed cast a long thin line of a shadow on Neville's bed hangings that looked like Gumby if you squinted a little. Harry chuckled softly and resituated himself in his bed. He had found his comfy spot now. He could feel it. The perfect indentation of his body fit beautifully in the sag. If you were to look for it, you couldn't see it, but you could feel it if you were to lie in it. Harry closed his eyes.   
  
He was now lying on his right side, with his left knee slightly bent. He felt all tension leave him and all the worries of the day depart. He sunk further into his 'spot' and raised his right hand towards his head, to lay it on the pillow gently. His other, lay on his midriff passively. Harry and sleep soon found each other and they drifted away together in the calm, cool night. His head was blank and resting.  
  
Ron's, however, wasn't. Although sleep had caught up with him much sooner than it did with Harry, his mind was still wide awake. It was taking him back to about a year ago, somewhere in Diagon Alley. He was walking with Fred and George but he didn't remember when this was. They were walking directly behind him on the crowded street and whispering fervently to one another. Ron heard them, but payed it no attention. He was too involved with watching all sorts of interesting people flood the street as they walked hastily along.   
  
  
  
And elderly woman was sitting at a table wearing a long green robe that reminded him distinctly of Professor McGonagall's robe with a young girl reading a book that reminded him of another person he knew well, Hermione. He chuckled softly to himself and dug through his pockets for some Ice Mice. He didn't have any of the delicious treats left though, because he had eaten the last one earlier down the street. He rather enjoyed listening to his teeth rattle like he was freezing. The whispers from Fred and George were gone.  
  
He looked back and they had stopped two stores down, huddled together, apparently discussing something. He rolled his eyes and jogged back to them. "Nice of you to tell me you stopped ya know," he said offhandedly. The whispering abruptly stopped and the twins looked up nervously at the same time looking pale. Their freckles shined brilliantly on their faces and both of their eyes were fixed on Ron.   
  
Please let me know what you think now. Can you make heads or tails of it? Review please. 


	4. Early Mornings

Early Mornings  
  
"Argh!" Ron groaned as the light hit him dead in the eyes and woke him from his dream. It was morning now and the sun had come out to pester him. He faced the spot were the opening usually was in his hangings, but it wasn't there. "Well of course, idiot," Ron said to himself, "you didn't close them. That's why the sun woke you up." He shook his head in annoyance at himself and yawned.   
  
  
  
Harry wasn't in bed, he noticed. From the sound of it, he was taking a shower. Ron stretched out his arms over his head and pushed his feet out as far as they would go, pulling on every muscle in his body. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep. After all, it was a Saturday morning. Why should he wake up before noon?   
  
Young Harry *was* taking a shower. The last of the water had dripped out of the faucet as he turned the knob to shut it off. His face was splashed with icy fresh water that glistened against his skin. His hair was plastered to his head for once but he couldn't see this miraculous event; his glasses were on the sink. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he wrapped it around his waist and tucked it so it would stay without holding him it. Harry looked down at his abdomen to find all of this muscles starring right back at him. Amazingly fit from Quidditch, and skinny by nature, his abs naturally stuck out with definition.   
  
A trickle of water streamed down his chest towards the towel and was soaked up immediately. Harry walked lightly over to the sink with his wet feet pattering on the ground, picked up his glasses, and put them on. "That's better," he said cutely. A smile spread across his face and he looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing special about it, but Harry liked the way it looked in the morning. He shook his head, and snapped out of his dream world he had still been in since he woke that even a cold shower hadn't woken him from.   
  
His hair dried rather quickly and stuck up in the back just as James's had done. Ah, he did look like James, the way his nose was so cutely rounded, the way his hair refused to behave, the way he walked, and not to mention, that if you took the scar off of his forehead and made him close his eyes, you'd be starring at the spitting image of James. Even his attitude towards everything in life was just like James's.  
  
  
  
Harry tried to reason with his hair by smashing it down on his head, but it stuck up anyway. He had 'morning hair' permanently and there was nothing he could do about it, not even curse his father for bad genes. But then again, who *could* hate James? For another few minutes he tried in vain to flatten his hair.  
  
  
  
"Ooh, you almost had it deary," said a cool wispy voice. The mirror knew that Harry wasn't going to win the battle he fought with his hair each and every day, but it offered encouragement none the less. He just rolled his eyes, huffed, and gave up as usual. Harry continued to get ready by doing all of his usual morning rituals and various activities and then made his way down to the Common Room.  
  
  
  
Harry's excitement was bursting out of him. He nearly missed two steps from trying to skip down them merrily. He wasn't hungry, although he should have been, and he didn't have a single bad thought in his mind. He was completely blinded with happiness. He'd brought his broom with him as he was going to the Quidditch field for some extra practice. It was smooth and sleek against his hand and incredibly light.  
  
  
  
He speedily turned the corner to find Euan's books still spilled on the table, but he wasn't there. It was quiet. Clearly the charm that had been placed on Gryffindor Tower had kept all of the rest of them sleeping. Harry, however, didn't seem to be effected by it. It didn't bother him though; he truthfully didn't notice. The few beams of light that spread across the room filled it in spots so vibrantly that it lifted his spirits even higher, if that was possible.  
  
  
  
Giddily, he bounced towards the door. "I know where you're going, Harry," said a cold voice, that clearly was not happy with him. It was Hermione. She had been squashing herself so tightly in the corner of a big overstuffed chair by the slightly crackling fire that he didn't notice her. Her eyes were squinted, pixilated with anger, on him, that she tried so desperately to hide. Of course, she didn't *want* to hate Harry, but she couldn't see past the barrier she had placed between them.   
  
  
  
"Glad to see you're in a better mood," Harry joked somewhat timidly. Hermione didn't ease her deathly stare or loosen her pursed lips. The fear that had taken him the pervious night had begun to creep up on him again. His carefree frame of mind was once again drowned by the shared image of swirling gray that he and Hermione – unbeknown to each other – had both seen. It was like Harry was connected to Hermione almost like he was to Voldemort, but not quite so; they had this image at different times.  
  
  
  
Her big brown eyes, usually as soft as a puppy's eyes, were hard and cold. Harry decided the best way to break away from their icy grip was to show no fear. He mustered up his most smart-aleck tone he could. "Isn't it apparent?" he said a little too weakly for his liking, "I have my broom." He was proud of himself but his calm faded as quickly as it had come.   
  
  
  
She rolled her eyes and Harry was glad that they had finally fallen away from him; they returned as soon as they had circled around making a cold shiver inch down his spine slowly. "Why are you wearing your *good* sweater then?"  
  
  
  
He'd never been good at arguing with Hermione. His thoughts were still spinning with the funneling clouds and masses of gray. "It's...cold in the morning," he said, half trying to convince himself. It wasn't cold. The sun was beaming down brightly through the uncurtained windows of the common room hitting Harry's arm. That was the only cheerful place he had left in his body. It was like the sun was chasing away the clouds that linked Harry and Hermione's shared thoughts. "Anyway, all the other ones are dirty." This statement was more convincing.   
  
  
  
"Fine!" Hermione spat at him. "Blame it all on the house elves." She turned away from him sharply, hitting her arm against the chair hard, and she flinched but was determined not to look back at Harry. He didn't know if she had her wand or not, but it was likely she did, and was clutching it in her hand, hidden from his view, ready to attack.   
  
  
  
Seizing the opportunity to leave, Harry half ran out of the Gryffindor Common Room holding his prized Firebolt and tore down the corridors and out the front door. The cool wetness touched his sneakers, still damp from the night before's practice, getting them even more wet as he ran through the dew kissed lawn toward the Quidditch Pitch.  
  
  
  
It was early in the season and he loved coming out onto the freshly dewed grass to smell the sweet aroma of the new day. It was a release from the real world that had been caging and controlling him. It was his escape from Umbridge and her horrible new rules. It brought happiness to his day and lifted him higher while everyone and everything else tried to bring him down. It eased the pain of his scar and soothed his memory. The nightmares he still had of Cedric and of Voldemort were gone when he was there in the Quidditch field. Not even false stories of him being mad, extra homework in preparation for their O.W.L.s, or his pent up anger and frustration could make it unhappy for him. He loved it.  
  
  
  
He was near the locker rooms now and he passed the Hufflepuff one nearly skipping, and also Slytherin, but oddly, he passed Gryffindor too. Harry was on his way to the Ravenclaw locker room this morning. The blue and gold banners filled his eyes. The eagle mascot, shining in all its glory proudly above the door, glared at the three others: a badger, a snake and a lion. They returned the favour by glowering right back at it. House rivalry was high enough for even statues to be slightly hostile towards the others.   
  
  
  
A pole that had been holding up the banister outside the Ravenclaw locker room was wet with dew as Harry found out from sliding his hand up and along it as he climbed a small flight of stairs leading to the door. The door's handle was the same way, but he didn't care. What was a little water between him, and happiness?   
  
  
  
Slowly he entered the room, dimly lit with the sunlight seeping through curtains that had slightly left their guard position in front of the windows. It was airy and smelled mildly of mildew, but it didn't dampen his mood. Harry walked in and cautiously sat down on a bench by the door. He held his broomstick tightly in his hands and closed his eyes. He took deep breathes in, not noticing the smell, and rested his head on the wall as if he were ready to take a nap.  
  
  
  
*He's making me randy sitting there. Look at his eyes, how they close so gently... passive. Ack, but his hair – always messed up and so horribly untidy. But I like to pull it.*  
  
  
  
Harry sat there for a moment or two, listening intently to any sound of someone coming in his direction. He was to meet someone there, and he wanted to surprise them by being there first. So badly, he wanted to open his eyes, but a person's senses are keener when one of them is blocked, so he kept them closed. His stomach started to turn as his excitement grew. The seconds ticked away slowly, very slowly. It's funny how time flies when one is having fun, and when one is anxiously awaiting something, it takes forever to pass.   
  
  
  
*Look at the fool. What's he doing? What am I doing? Calm. Stay calm. Just GO talk to him already. Sheesh!*  
  
  
  
"Harry?" said a voice near a mirror on the other side of the room. It was said in a welcoming tone but was oddly formal. Harry's heart nearly skipped a beat as the familiar voice flooded his thoughts. It looped around in his head awakening all of his senses with a joyous song. He put his broomstick down on the bench and opened his eyes, reluctantly; he wanted to sit and let the voice's song fill him until he was inebriated by it.  
  
Ooooo so close to finding out what it is now. Review with your thoughts PLEASE!! This review is important to me!! 


	5. The Locker Room

The Locker Room  
  
  
  
Harry looked up and over towards the place where the intoxicating voice had come from. His vision was blurred by the water in his eyes that had stayed there from keeping them closed. He blinked a couple of times and squinted through the dim bits of light. The image of perfection stepped into a beam of light that shone in his silky skin: Draco Malfoy.   
  
  
  
"Hey," Harry half gasped as he swallowed a lump in his throat. Butterflies filled his stomach and fluttered madly inside of him. He chewed on his tongue without noticing it and he let his eyes run down Draco's body to quickly be returned back to his eyes. He stood as Draco came across the room and he walked to meet him.   
  
  
  
Harry brought his right hand up to Draco's cheek and leaned in to kiss him hello. Draco, however, seized his arm tightly and turned it outwards and down while pulling Harry closer to him, starring him in the eye. "Don't touch me, Potter!" And with that he pushed him to the floor.   
  
  
  
"D-Draco?" Harry said feebly. He shook his head in disbelief and made motions with his mouth like he was about to say something, but couldn't decide what, exactly, it was that he wanted to.   
  
  
  
"There's no use now." Draco didn't sound at all pleased to have Harry in his presence like he did just seconds before. He actually sounded quite annoyed. Slightly sticking out his bottom lip as he pursed them together while shaking his head slowly with stigmatization and furrowed brows, he looked at Harry where he sat on the ground.   
  
  
  
Wearily, he got up again and took a step closer to Draco. "What?" Harry said very confused and shaken. "What do you mean 'no use now?'"  
  
  
  
"I mean they know, Harry. They know!" Draco turned away from him and walked to the wall. His elbow rose to it and his wrist balanced him evenly as he rested his head on his forearm. He looked down at the dingy ground painfully.   
  
  
  
"What? Who? How the Hell –"  
  
  
  
"Your guess is as good as mine is, Potter!" he spat. Harry loved the way he accented his name: 'Potter.' It made him quiver.   
  
  
  
"Draco, what the Hell are you talking about?" Harry shouted.  
  
  
  
"If you don't shut up *everyone* is going to know! God, scream it for everyone to hear us in here." Harry looked down, slightly repentant but still almost angry. Quickly he looked back up at Draco who was looking down upon him. After a brief pause Draco questioned Harry again with another confusing question. "You told her didn't you? Granger."  
  
  
  
"Told her WHAT?" Harry took a step closer to Draco. His silky blueish-white shirt glowed in his eyes. Draco always looked his best. There was no day that he didn't, but this shirt glowed more radiant than his skin. Harry was in awe in the middle of an argument he was clearly losing from lack of knowledge of the topic.   
  
  
  
"About *us,* Potter, US! I knew you would. Why not? She *is* someone you're *close* to."  
  
  
  
"Oh, stop it!" Harry hissed as he rolled his eyes. "You know I didn't." He finally understood a fragment of what Draco was talking about.   
  
  
  
"How does she know then?" Draco said, becoming a tiny bit calmer.   
  
  
  
There was a pause. "Wait a minute, how do *you* know she knows?" This was all so confusing to Harry. The funneling gray starting to run to the front of his thoughts from the very back of his mind as he took another step closer to Draco.  
  
  
  
"I found out last night – good work by the way on making it look like we hate each other." He smiled at Harry adorably. "At least *Weasley's* too stupid to catch on."  
  
  
  
"Hey! Ron is my friend."  
  
  
  
"Crabbe and Goyle are mine. Why do I have to be nice to *him* if you aren't decent to them?" Draco said simperingly.  
  
Harry thought for a second. "They're just stupid," he said flat out. Draco couldn't argue. "So how did you know. How did you find out about Hermione knowing about us?"  
  
  
  
"Last night." A grin spread across his face. "I was...walking around and I heard her screaming about you being gay in the hospital wing. Sounded pretty pissed off to me." Malfoy paused again. "At least Crabbe and Goyle weren't with me."  
  
  
  
"What were you doing without them?" Harry asked raising his eyebrow, but not smugly; it was like a puppy tilting in head sweetly, making you want to hug it. "She *was* pissed off at me for *something* last night. Guess that's it." Harry looked down at his shoes. He looked up again. "She looked like she was going to kill me, Draco." His voice lost all form of anger that it currently held. "Honest. I've never seen her so...resentful before. I don't think she likes the idea very much." Draco made reassuring noises as an excuse to ignore the question of why he was out 'walking,' and looked Harry dead in the eye; Harry looked aside.   
  
  
  
"Well, McGonagall knows too," Draco said quickly, "and Madame Pompfrey and anyone else that was near as well." Harry took a few seconds to take in those last words.   
  
  
  
"McGonagall didn't seem to care that Hermione wanted to kill me," said Harry still very confused. "Do you think she knew before Hermione? What if lots more people know? Oh, Draco, but Hermione *did* tell her about my Firebolt when I got it," Harry said indicated it by pointing to the spot where his broomstick lay on the bench. "What if she knew and told McGonagall earlier that day – I didn't see her anymore that day when she was calm, since lunch. She seems damn close to her, Mcgonagall – swear it's a cat thing." Harry shook his head in frustration and confusion then looked down and to the side. A small ray of light seeped through the dim and touched his face.   
  
  
  
"What's that?" Draco said mustering up every amount of mollycoddle he could. "If she laid on filthy, mudblood finger on you, I'll kill her!" He had obviously not been talking about the scar on his forehead that marked him as the boy who lived, but instead about the tiny scratch that he got from a rock the night before.  
  
  
  
"No, Draco. I – fell." Harry looked down a little embarrassed. Again, someone he cared about wanted to kill another person he cared about. In the time it took him to look up again, Draco had pushed him against one the cold walls of the locker room.  
  
  
  
"Healer Draco is here. Have no fear. I'll kiss it and make it all better." Harry grinned and bit his lower lip. Draco's hand was firmly pinning him to the wall and his legs were interlocked with his. He could go no where even if he wanted to. Every inch of Draco's body that touched Harry was making him tingle. His senses were all flurried and the spinning angry clouds had vanished from his thoughts.   
  
  
  
"Yes, it *is* my turn isn't it?" Harry said looking Draco steadfastly in his beautiful eyes. "Made me do all the work last week, didn't you?" He let out a short, booming laugh. "You are now in my debt, Malfoy!"   
  
  
  
"*Debt,* Potter? I am in no one's *debt,*" Draco said shortly. He grabbed a bunch of Harry's navy blue sweater in his fist and pulled himself closer to him so they were both flattened against one another. Harry couldn't say a word; he could only grin insanely.  
  
  
  
So once again, Harry brought his hand up to Draco's cheek to give him his late hello kiss, and again Malfoy pushed it away. "I said, don't touch me, Potter." He looked at him seriously. "Am I not the one that owes you something?" He watched as Harry's face eased and almost melted from joy spread through him again.   
  
  
  
Draco ran his hands along Harry's body smoothly, taunting and teasing him as he looked him in the eye. He brought a soft hand to Harry's face where the scratch had been and stroked it gently with the back of his forefingers. A moment later he leaned in towards him and kissed the spot on his face while bringing him in tighter, pulling him closer. Harry fluttered his eyes with enjoyment without knowing and Draco smiled. He loved to tantalize Harry.   
  
For the third time, Harry tried to kiss Draco, but he pulled back. A hand grabbed a fistful of Harry's sweater, spun him around, and threw him to the ground as hard as he could. Harry's face was a funny sight to see. It was full of shock and surprise. Longingly, he looked back up at Draco, moaned objectively, and moved to a more comfortable position than the one he had landed in.   
  
  
  
"Practice, Potter – practice." They hadn't come simply to enjoy each other's company, but rather to rehearse hiding it.   
  
  
  
"Draaaco," Harry whined, "why?" He stuck out his bottom lip and pouted looking up at him. A beam of light, now slightly brighter as the sun had risen a little more in the time they were in the locker room, bounced off of Draco's angelic shirt. It reminded Harry of the candle light, just as his Draco's eyes did.   
  
  
  
"WHY? Why do we have to?" he shot angrily, "Granger knows, McGonagall knows, and Madame Pompfrey knows along with anyone else who heard Mudblood screaming. That's why, Potter. If my father finds out about...us, then I'm dead."  
  
  
  
Again, the topic of death came into play. Harry hated it. The sound of the word was like saying "Voldemort" to a person it scares. He couldn't' bare to look at Draco any longer so he tore his eyes away, closed them, and turned his head downwards.  
  
  
  
"What's the matter, Potter?" Draco said cruelly. "Still don't like the word 'mudblood?'" He smirked as he watched Harry's eyes brows furrow slightly as he tried to hide his displeasure of such an distasteful word. Even closed, Harry's emerald eyes sparkled. A moment passed and Draco walked over to where he was on the ground and kneeled down to him. He outstretched his hand to bring Harry's face up so he could look at him properly.   
  
  
  
Harry had no other choice than to open his eyes. They looked up slowly, almost unwillingly at Draco who now looked emotionless. Harry smiled weakly at Draco and he punched him as hard as he could in the nose, sending him falling, once again, backwards. He hit his head on the cold, concrete floor and didn't get up.  
  
  
  
Harry licked his lips as a drop of blood began to run from his nose slowly. The warmth from it eased the throbbing that was now in his head and nose. He had also bitten his lip but appeared to be in no pain at all. He took his glasses off and tossed them to the side, into a dark corner so he wouldn't have to fix them again and so Draco couldn't ram them into his eyes. He was going to do as little as possible this time, but he wished it were a little...nicer. Draco wasn't going to love on him like he'd done the last time they met here secretly. No, he was going to beat the living Hell out of him and enjoy it, or try to.   
  
  
  
Meeting in the Ravenclaw locker room wasn't the best place to be, but at least no one would expect it. Harry being in Gryffindor, and Draco in Slytherin, made it almost too easy to find them if anyone went looking for them if they were to meet in one of those. Choosing Ravenclaw was the next best thing to their own houses. They were the only real competition between the top two, Gryffindor and Slytherin. If they messed up their locker room then they could use that to their advantage.  
  
  
  
"This is for you, Harry!" Draco said looking as if he were about to cry. "We can't look like we like each other! We'll have to do this so we don't turn too 'friendly' at school!" Draco shouted at him as he jerked Harry up by his arm to slam him against the wall. It looked like it caused Draco more pain to hurt Harry, than Harry looked like he was in. At least they were doing it the Muggle way. It didn't hurt as badly.   
  
  
  
"For me?" Harry said very sarcastically, "Oh, Draco, you shouldn't have. Really, you do too much." Harry turned his head back as far as he could to try to look at Draco.   
  
  
  
"Shut up," Draco said coldly. He forced Harry into the wall harder, smashing him against concrete. Harry didn't say anything; he just laughed. Draco stood there for a moment keeping him pinned to the wall without saying a word.  
  
  
  
"What's wong Dwaco?" he said talking like a baby "tant fink of what to do next now the Crabby and Goyle aren't here?"   
  
  
  
"Shut it, Potter!"  
  
  
  
"Aww poor wittle Dwaco needs them to do it for him." Harry started to laugh and he lost his baby voice. "Don't they always do this type of thing for you? Man, you didn't even hit me hard enough to make my nose bleed for more than a second." His nose had stopped bleeding. Draco pushed him harder into the wall and squinted his eyes. "You know, if you move your hand down a little farther, you could be helping me with my stiff back," Harry said smiling broadly.  
  
  
  
"Oh, you are enjoying this too much. That's not the point, Harry."  
  
  
  
"Practice doesn't have to be this painful you know?"  
  
  
  
"HA! So I *did* hurt you!" Draco said looking very proud of himself.   
  
  
  
"No. Actually, there is just a rock in my shoe, that I am standing on," Harry lied. Now Draco was irritable and Harry loved it.   
  
  
  
"Rrraah!" Draco grunted as he kicked Harry's feet out from under him making him fall to the ground for the second time. Unfortunately for Draco, he had fallen to the floor with Harry, but Harry had slightly broken his fall. Harry was lying on his back, and Draco was as well, but he had half fallen on Harry. Draco rolled over as quickly as possible and straddled him, and locked him, to the ground.   
  
  
  
He smiled childishly and said, "ha ha pinned you!" He had no tone of anger or aggression in his voice, but instead he looked happy and playful.   
  
  
  
"Are you sure about that?" Harry questioned as he rolled over on his side, knocking Draco off of him and making him fall on his elbows. Draco's was shocked and the expression on his face matched perfectly. Harry snickered and ran to the back of the locker room, looking back to see if Draco would follow. Of course, he did. He was a Malfoy. He wasn't going to let someone get the better of him.   
  
How did you take that chapter? Please review it. Thanx 


	6. Still Thinking

Still Thinking  
  
  
  
Spinning quickly and tumbling into darkness, Hermione was headed for the same horrible memory in her head of the past night. She slammed her hand deep into the couch she was sitting on, bracing herself as she 'fell,' and squirmed violently. Her eyes were closed involuntarily and she was clamping them shut .A whimper escaped her mouth and ran through the empty common room.   
  
  
  
*It wasn't true. It couldn't be. Not Harry. No.* Hermione grabbed on to the arm of the couch and held on tightly as if she were riding a roller coaster, trying not to smash the person in the seat with her. She shook her head back and forth wildly, trying desperately not to enter into her memory. Her hand had been clutching the couch so tightly that it started to shake as the muscle tired. A leg dug into the floor as she tried to stop herself from 'falling' and her whole body was now as tense as possible. Every muscle fiber she had was tight and her shaking worsened now from just her arm to every part of her. It looked like she was having a fit of palsy as she struggled.  
  
  
  
Hot pain seared through her body and her head flew back in agony. She was unaware if she was screaming or not, but she knew she was trying. The voice she was so used to hearing, was now gone as she dropped through the clouds in her twilight zone. All she wanted to say was what she needed to believe. Her friend couldn't be gay. There was no way that Harry, Harry Potter, could be gay.   
  
  
  
The incessant torture she was going through in her land of denial was now at it's maximum. The wind blew harshly and wickedly. It ripped at her making her hair stand on end and whirl around to knot in massive clumps. A murmur now came from deep within her. A tear ran down her face. Now it was all real. Everything seemed to be calming down in her head. The clouds stopped spinning so quickly and the wind died down some. Her hair was bigger and fluffier than ever before and was full of nothing but knotted strands. She opened her eyes slowly and tears burst out of them.   
  
  
  
She wept and breathed very shallowly almost gasping for air as she hung over in her seat looking down at the floor. Her whole body was shaking in fear and her heart beat at an incredibly fast rate. Then BAM!  
  
  
  
"Ahhhh!" Hermione screamed through the still of the common room. A sudden pain grasped her throat. It tightened quickly leaving Hermione unable to speak. Her hands flew to her throat to try to pry whatever it was that was choking her away. Nothing was there but it seemed that a tourniquet had been wrapped around her neck.   
  
  
  
She was getting light-headed and extremely dizzy again. Blood seemed to be unable to reach her brain. Her oxygen seemed to have been but off too. She tried to cry but didn't have the energy. This intensified revulsion of Harry was caging and controlling her making her vulnerable to attack from her thoughts and easy to haunt. Her soul cried for understanding of what was going on. It had been so relieved just seconds before. It was like Harry wasn't gay for those few seconds.   
  
  
  
A lone tear streamed down Hermione's face and dropped to her lap. It hit her leg and she felt the vibration. A heat rippled from the spot where it hit her and spread quickly bringing her joy and relief. She knew she shouldn't let a simple choice interfere with her friendship but she didn't care. Through her eyes he was worthless and grimy.  
  
  
  
"I hate him," she spat. "I hate him. I hate him!" No matter how close of friends she and Harry were, or no matter all of the things she put up with, he was less than dirt in Hermione's eyes now, her beady little bird eyes, so closed to understanding and so horribly cold.   
  
Authors note: All of you closed-minded people piss me off! One day you will see your dogmatic ways. *angry face* Accept thy brother! CONSTANT ACCEPTANCE!!!! Review it now. How did I make you feel? 


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